Chapter 17
Astupider question had never been uttered.
Do you still love me?
As if she didn’t.
“I’ve always loved you. It didn’t matter that I was considered a child, my instincts knew my heart belonged to you. Then my life was stolen from me when my brother locked me away. All the shame I brought on my family, the scandal that erupted, and the wave of gossip that follows me as my own personal storm cloud faded by comparison to the loss I’d suffered.”
“It was my fault. I was reckless and did exactly what a parvenu would, a selfish heir to a new title. And I soiled you with?—”
She pressed her index finger on his mouth. “Enough of what they told us. They only ever thought about what we did to them, but do you know what?” He raised his brows but left his mouth under the firm pressure of her finger as if he liked the touch, any touch, as much as she did. “We were in love. We had found the other person in the world who completed our souls. They were jealous because we had accomplished the pleasure”—she emphasized the word—“of such a connection at the age of fourteen and fifteen and sixteen and seventeen. Something others cannot even manage when they are thrice that old.” She blew a strand of her whisky-brown tresses away as she spoke. “They called me odd, wild, and unnatural, but it was the most natural feeling ever. Being with you was not just love back then. It grew into a need inside of me that is no less important than breathing. What they did was try to tame me, lock me away, and stifle the feelings, but let me tell you something—they failed.”
Her heart must have tried to pound on the butterfly because there was an uproar in her chest and stomach that nearly knocked the wind out of her.
“I. Love. You.” She meant for the declaration to come out tender, feminine, but it sounded angry and demanding. “So much. I love you so much!”
Greg met her gaze as fiercely with his eyes, but then his gaze dropped to her mouth.
As if the declaration had delivered a physical blow, Hermy lost the power to form words. This time, her heart didn’t merely stop beating but dropped to her knees entirely when Greg wrapped his arm around her waist, turned with her one hundred and eighty degrees as in a waltz, bringing her out of the doorway to place her back against the wall of his study.
He must have kicked the door because it fell shut.
“What’s your first move?” Greg rasped, his face so close, his nose almost touched hers.
“e4.”
“e5.”Anything was possible from here. It was her decision whether to withdraw.
“f4,” she said, opening up a line for him to attack. It was an invitation to conquer in their secret language.
“You’re taking the center?” His voice sounded hoarse as his eyes fell to her mouth.
She reached for his waistband. “I’m giving you my f-pawn.” She’d chosen the King’s Gambit again, but it was different this time, opening the lines for her white pieces to attack and to seize control of the middle of the playing field early in the game.
“You’re in for sharp and aggressive positions,” Greg said, his eyes locked with hers. He looked just as smitten as he did all those years ago. His gaze, the warmth, the hunger for her made her ravenous once again.
“Both players can launch attacks now,” she said.
“It requires precise play from both sides,“ he warned but it sounded more like an invitation. His hands were on the wall on either side of her, pinning her to the spot. “White sacrifices a lot of material early on with this opening.”
“The pieces are merely catching up with reality.” She’d already lost everything so had nothing to lose if she launched the attack of her life—or was conquest the better word?
“The King’s Gambit is a bold statement of intent.” Greg stepped back, looking down at her hand in his waistband and tried to tug back. But she held on. “It’s all about White’s willingness to engage in a dynamic and tactical battle right from the outset.”
When Hermy raised her gaze to his, she already felt his lips on hers.
Memories flooded with the same rush of heat as what pulsed through her veins. Her body remembered him, her soul clutched onto his kiss, and her heart had been his all along.
She pulled his middle against her as she opened her mouth and sucked his tongue in. It was like jumping into cool water on a hot summer day. At first, there was the shock of the contact but as soon as his tenderness washed over her, she was ready to immerse herself in all the glory that was him.
For it had always been him.
There’d been too many moves, too many decoys, and too many losses along the way to bring her here but she was his White Queen indeed, ready to be captured by the Black Knight.
“This is how chess is different than life,” she moaned as he broke the kiss and lay a trail of the softest kisses from her chin to her neck and down to her shoulder.
“Hm?” His hands came to her waist, and he pressed against her as though he needed her as close as she wanted him. “I thought you always said chess was life itself.” More kisses along her neck. She broke out in goosebumps and her insides twitched with glee.
“Depends on the stakes,” she managed, unable to hide the breathlessness.
Greg withdrew. “I beg your pardon?”
The air that took the place he’d just occupied on her body left a jarring cold.
“You said it depends on the stakes, Hermy. What do you mean?”
“The investment. You know, put the knight in the center?—”
“And lure the queen out? Is that what you think I’m doing?”
She reeled from the loss of his kiss, and he’d regained his composure, now pacing the room with his shirt undone and the muscles of his abdomen flexing as he walked. “I am not using you as a stepping-stone to the Earldom, Hermy, I never wanted it.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I’m not playing for you because I don’t think you’re just a prize in a game.
“I never thought you did.”
He looked at her, hurt blurring the sparkle that had been in his eyes just a moment ago. “I don’t want to win like this.”
“Win what?”
“All of it!” He threw his arms in the air, as if he’d explained himself exhaustively, and left.
With her back to the wall, the memory of Greg”s kiss lingered on her lips, a sweet torment that mocked her with its brevity. How could a moment so full of promise dissolve into such bitter confusion? She had felt the walls around his heart crumble beneath her fingertips, only for him to rebuild them, brick by cold brick, with his sudden withdrawal and harsh words.
Her heart ached with a thousand questions, each one sharper than the last. Why did he pull away? What was he hiding behind those stormy eyes that once gazed upon her with such warmth? The Greg she thought she knew would never shrink from a challenge, would never retreat into the shadows when the path ahead beckoned so brightly.
Yet, there he was, a contradiction in flesh and blood, pushing her away with one hand while the other seemed to grasp for her, desperate and seeking. It was as if he fought against himself, torn between desire and some unseen duty or fear. Anger, hot and fierce, bubbled within her. She was angry with Greg for his sudden change, yes, but more so with herself for her inability to understand, to breach the fortress he had erected around himself.
But tonight, she mourned the loss of what could have been, and the enigmatic man who held the key to her heart yet refused to unlock it.
The key.
She reached for the chain round her neck and grasped it.